Tag Archives: Mommy reflections

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Blizzard

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It’s a full-on blizzard today, and I couldn’t be happier. We were supposed to be moving into our new house but delayed it yesterday due to the impending storm. Last night, I was incredibly skeptical that we’d actually get any significant snowfall; I have more memories of the weather powers-that-be predicting storms that produced a paltry inch or two than memories of massive snowfalls. But this has been a true winter event: the airport is closed, interstates are closed, buses have shut down, and the world has slowed.

It occurred to me today that there’s probably a little part of me that still wishes I was Laura Ingalls Wilder, toughing it out on the prairie. I love the winter, but I know there are a lot of people here who truly hate the weather, snow in particular. I’ve had many raised eyebrows when making small talk and someone says, “Oh, I bet you miss that California weather!” and I say, “Not really. I missed the winter.” There are also plenty of people who think I’m going to get sick of it really fast, that I’m thinking back on my winter memories with rosy-colored snow goggles. And that may be true.

But here’s what I know is true right at this moment: I feel so alive. Call it cheesy, call it granola, call it whatever you like; I could not get this feeling in California, no matter how hard I tried. Snow demands attention, and when it comes down to it, I kind of love that it’s not easy to live with.

Today we had the idea of trekking the six blocks to our new house in order to shovel the walks in time for the movers tomorrow. We all suited up, but after only half a block, Griffin was not too happy (even though he was hitching a ride in the carrier). I volunteered to head over to the house by myself, and Andrew headed back to the apartment with Griffin. Most of the walks were not shoveled, and the streets had not been plowed, so it was just me, marching through snow, sometimes in drifts up to my hips. I arrived at the house and shoveled. Yes, it was hard work, and yes, it would probably stink if I had to do it every day, and yes, I had a great time. Maybe it was being alone for over two hours, maybe it was the familiar scrape and feel of the shovel, maybe it was the satisfaction of doing something start to finish without being interrupted, maybe it was the quiet stillness that comes with snow. All I know is that there is no place I’d rather be right now, and I’m loving every minute of being back here, smack dab in the middle of winter.

Griffin

Impromptu Project

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Being the full-time parent of a toddler has its ups and downs. Lately, it’s been a battle of the wills for me and Griffin. I usually win, but my sense of humor flies out the window as a result (so is it really winning?). I’ve learned that patience is generally a prerequisite to maintaining my sense of humor, and the Battle of the Wills drains my fairly large supply of patience rapidly. Take, for instance, yesterday in the late afternoon: after a day filled with temper tantrums and plans gone slightly awry, I logically knew it was funny when Griffin pulled my pants down and gave me a raspberry on the butt while I was bending over to wipe up the juice he deliberately spilled on the floor. But in the moment, all I could think was “Andrew, please come home soon, or so help me, I am going to throw this kid through the window.”  Toddler parenting seems to be the ultimate test of whether you can go with the flow. I find my most successful days are ones where I’m not married to my ideas of what should or shouldn’t happen and I pay close attention to Griffin’s hunger, energy, and mood; my least successful are when I have a rigid agenda despite Griffin’s mood or think Griffin is going to love doing x. y, or z, but instead has absolutely no interest what-so-ever.

So this morning was a success as the stars aligned to allow for an impromptu project with my kiddo. After Andrew left for work, I noticed that the back door in our kitchen has a good one-to-two inch gap with the floor and is a huge heat-loss problem. I decided it was time to make a draft snake! I had several old sweaters just waiting for projects, as well as a buckwheat-filled bed pillow that proved to be not as comfortable as I was hoping, so I had the supplies. Griffin was fascinated watching the rotary cutter (from afar, of course), and under careful supervision, he actually really enjoyed sticking pins into the sweater material while I pinned the seams. He became my helper at the sewing machine, putting the pins back in the box as I pulled them out. The best part of the whole project was making him in charge of filling the snake with buckwheat hulls. I let go of any anxiety with making a mess (that’s what vacuum cleaners are for, right?), and just let him have fun. The end result was practical (no more leaky door!) and fun for both of us. And now every time he walks by the door, Griffin says, “sssssss!” and gives the snake a hug.

Project ground zero.
Buckwheat hulls are also good for playing with!
Griffin says, "sssssss!"
No more cold, leaky door!
Griffin

MILK!!

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Griffin took an early, three hour long nap today and so was getting irritable earlier than usual in the evening. He was signing for milk (which is part of our bedtime routine), but I wanted to try to keep him engaged a little longer since 5:30 would likely get us a very early wake up tomorrow. So I told him he could have milk a little later and “wouldn’t you rather play with the lincoln logs?” That worked for about a minute before he led me to the kitchen, pointed at the refrigerator and signed “milk” again. I repeated that he’d have to wait and tried to distract him with some books in the other room. He quickly lost interest in those, padded off to the kitchen and returned, laboriously lugging an unopened container of soy milk from the lower cabinet with this look on his face like, “PEOPLE! Knock it off and pay attention to me: I am trying to tell you, I want MILK!” I could not believe his tenacity and willingness to work with my apparent inability to understand his very simple request. His efforts did not go unnoticed and I quickly poured him a bottle of soy milk. We sat down in the chair and he happily listened to several stories before going to bed at his normal hour. It is seriously such a delight to watch this little toddler discover how to navigate and communicate his way through his world.

Griffin

Revolution

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Griffin with Mixer
Griffin helps by watching the mixer

Today I made banana walnut muffins with Griffin, and it was truly a transformative experience. This may seem like the beginning of a silly anecdote, but I am totally serious. It really opened my eyes to the fact that my child is ready for things I didn’t know he was capable of.

The idea of involving him in making muffins (which I was going to do regardless) transpired after reading a book called Sign With Your Baby and watching the corresponding DVD. I’ve been working on signing with Griffin since returning from full time work, and already he’s picked up more, milk, and all done. I wanted a little more guidance, though, and so turned to these resources. The babies in the video were communicating on such a sophisticated level that it motivated me to first, learn more signs so I can introduce them to Griffin, and second, really involve Griffin in everyday experiences so we can have more opportunities to communicate and experience things together. Muffin making this afternoon seemed like the perfect chance to start. I thought at the very least he’d be fascinated by the mixer!

Griffin with Oven
Griffin watches the muffins baking in the oven

I put him in a little apron and pulled the step stool up to the counter. He watched me measure the flour, sugar, and other dry ingredients and put them into the mixer. He listened to my warnings not to put his hands near the moving parts, and was indeed taken with the sound and movement. Next, we worked on the wet ingredients, which were set aside next to another bowl. This is where the magic started happening. I was standing behind him while he was standing on the step stool: I cracked the eggs in front of his face, which elicited an excited, “ooooooooh!” I brought out the egg beater, and we spun it together, hand over hand, to beat the eggs. He giggled. He poured in the milk and yogurt without spilling! We stirred it together with a wooden spoon. I showed him how to mash the bananas with his hand and put them in the bowl, and to my amazement, he did it unaided. This was by far his favorite part. He was laughing with every squish and signed more! when he was done. I crushed the walnuts, and he dutifully put the walnuts in the batter, one by one, after I’d combined the wet and dry ingredients.

He did get banned from actually filling the muffin tins since he wanted to stick his hand in every single one, but this is only the first of many collaborative cooking efforts; I’m sure we’ll get to a point where he will be able to help every step of the way.

Griffin with Muffin
Griffin enjoys the fruits of our collaboration
Griffin

Never Say Never

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I’m discovering as I get older that perhaps I’m the kind of person who prefers the quiet.  Those of you who know me well might be saying, “Duh, Sarah.  Aren’t you the woman who has chosen to spend most of her summers in a tent in the woods?  And hey, didn’t you live for an entire year in a state park?”  So perhaps I’m a little slow on the uptake.  I mean, really, I kind of think screaming should be reserved for when you’re being eaten by a bear.  You’d think I would have figured out by now that I prefer quiet.

But seriously, sometimes these insights creep up on me and I realize, “Oooohhhhh, there are different people in the world.  Those who like it noisy and those who like it quiet, and I like quiet!”  So imagine my surprise when I said to myself, “I really should buy Griffin one of those fake phones that makes all kinds of noise when you push the buttons!  And maybe it should be in Elmo’s voice!  And be able to say Griffin’s name!  That would be an awesome addition to my life!”

Yes, I’ll confess that I’ve often looked with disdain at those toys that light up, talk to you, and do all kinds of things that seem unnecessary.  I believe the words, “The WORLD is stimulating enough!  I will never buy something like that for my child!  Kids don’t need all those bells and whistles!” have come out of my mouth on more than one occasion, definitely with an eye roll for dramatic effect.  But need is the operative word here.  Of course kids don’t NEED those things, but they sure do like ’em, and Griffin is definitely one of those kids who delights in things that go “whirrrrr!”

Sure, he’ll play with the beautiful stuffed animal I painstakingly made out of felt or the natural wooden blocks, but what he really, really loves is carrying our cordless phone around while pushing the buttons to hear the noise and watch it light up.  We were ending up chasing him all over the house making sure he didn’t dial 911 or India, and finally I decided he needed a phone of his own.

I considered looking at the second-hand stores first, but frankly traipsing all over Oakland with Griffin in tow pursuing this one thing I may never find wasn’t too appealing.  So I headed to Target as part of a greater errand run, and the choices were surprisingly limited (apparently the newest thing for kids is to have their own play laptop, so I guess I’m behind the times).  It was either Elmo, Buzz Lightyear, or some obnoxious Japanese character I’ve never heard of.  I had to forget my goal of purchasing things without television or Disney characters on them (I guess I’ve got a lot of issues), and let Griffin play with Elmo and Buzz in the cart to see which seemed the least disturbing.  Surprisingly, Elmo won.

Admittedly, Elmo is pretty cute, and Griffin absolutely loves the phone.  He carries it all around, puts it up to his ear and says, “Hay-lo!”  He hasn’t touched our real phone since, and thankfully Elmo has an off switch for those times when we need just a little more quiet.

Griffin and his new best friend
Griffin

Confrontation

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I reached a milestone today as a parent: I was accused by another parent of neglecting in my duties as a mom to care for my child.  The accusing mom did not actually say, “You’re a bad mom,” but she may as well have just come out and said it that way.

I returned to work three weeks ago as a full-time teacher, covering my friend Bess’ kindergarten class while she’s out on maternity leave.  It has been a hard adjustment for everyone in the family, and it’s been further complicated by the fact that Griffin has been fighting illness since he started going to day care.  I was expecting him to get sick, and he predictably did almost immediately.  What I wasn’t expecting is for it to go on and on the way it has.  He’s had a cold in one form or another for nearly three weeks, had stomach flu complete with projectile vomiting and diarrhea up the back and down the legs, and now is on to wheezing like an asthmatic.  Andrew and I have both stayed home from work with him for a couple of days when he was really sick, and we have been to the doctor three times in the past three weeks.  I was beginning to feel like a worry-wart mom, but on the last visit this past Wednesday, his pediatrician assured me that it’s just par for the course and that he’ll get better eventually.  We’re currently treating his wheezing with two inhaled medicines, and he’s pretty much back to his old self, laughing, playing, eating, and sleeping normally.

This morning when I went to drop Griffin off at day care, another mom (who made it clear she’s a nurse) handed me a printout on RSV (the illness his pediatrician has already told me is the likely culprit of his symptoms) and said she was “very upset” that Griffin had been at day care yesterday.  She went on to tell me that RSV is a “highly contagious” disease and it’s “completely inappropriate” for him to be at day care.  I told her that his doctor had said nothing about Griffin not attending day care, at which point she said, “Sometimes you have to ask specific questions.”  She went on to say that “many children who get it are on respirators in the hospital” and she didn’t want her child to get it, so if Griffin was going to be at day care, she was going to take a sick day and pull her daughter out, although “it may be too late.”

I think it was about this point that I started to cry.  I babbled something about “being new at this mom thing” and how “of course I would never bring Griffin to day care if I thought he was going to get other kids seriously ill” and she talked back at me about “it’s highly contagious and we’ll probably ALL get it now.”  By this time, I was late to work and was supposed to be with my students in 15 minutes.  I called our extremely compassionate secretary who assured me she’d handle it.  I gathered my things and left with Griffin on my hip and tears streaming down my face.

I’m home now and am calmer.  Griffin and I enjoyed playing together this morning, and now he’s down for a nice long nap.  His doctor emailed me back right away saying there’s absolutely no reason Griffin can’t go to day care, that he stopped being contagious 24 hours after his fever broke, and that basically he’s fine.  I am happy I am vindicated, and happy to be home enjoying some unexpected hours with my little guy.

I’ve thought a lot about what I’m going to say when I run into this mom again.  She was wrong, plain and simple, on so many levels including medically.  I could point all these things out to her and tell her just how wrong she was, but I think I’ll just say this to her: If I’ve learned anything about parenting so far, it’s that we all do the best that we can for our kids.  Instead of keeping this in mind, you made me feel ignorant, incompetent, and stupid when you could have addressed your worries by showing compassion, understanding, and asking questions instead of accusing.  I hope you keep this in mind the next time you are doing the best you can for your daughter.

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No No, Naptime!

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Griffin cannot talk yet, but I imagine what he’d like to say to me today is, “Mom, you’re the idiot who woke me up not once, but twice today from my car seat naps, so why would you expect that even though I’m tired and cranky and seem like I want a nap, I would actually take one?  It’s clearly not my fault, so don’t get all angsty on me because you screwed up.  Geez.  Amateur.”

But since the most effective way of communicating that kind of frustration so far in his short little life is screaming, that’s what he’s doing.  In his crib.  Alone.

I am hiding in my bedroom writing this post.  I know that “crying it out” won’t really hurt him, but it’s a very difficult thing to endure, especially knowing what a sweet, loving, and flexible kid he really is.  Sometimes, though, in order for me to be the best mom I can be, I need the time out.  As I breathe and collect myself, I see the red lights on the monitor lighting up (the volume is turned down for my sanity) showing that his frustration is not dissipating.  However, just this little bit of separation is what I needed to make my frustration dissolve and develop into sympathy and caring, and I’m ready to go back in and soothe my little boy to sleep.

Griffin, Sarah

One Hit Wonder

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I wish I had some video to go along with this story, but the title says it all.

Griffin and I went on a walk on Tuesday down to Lakeshore Avenue to get more English muffins from our favorite bakery, Arizmendi. Naturally, as long as we were down there, we had to take a swing through my favorite store, Urban Indigo. Andrew often jokes that he could go in there with his eyes closed, pick something at random, and I’d love it. It’s pretty much true. The store may as well be named Sarah’s Favorite Things, but I digress. They have a children’s section, which I now have more of a reason to visit thanks to Mr. G, and I came across a jack-in-the-box. More specifically, it was a Jack Russell Terrier in a box that popped up to the tune “Oh Where, Oh Where Has My Little Dog Gone?”, and since Griffin has really been enjoying peek-a-boo, I thought he might like it.

I was wrong. He LOVED it. I mean, this kid would not stop laughing. I just did it over and over and over, and he kept laughing and squealing like it was the funniest thing on the face of the planet. Everyone in the store couldn’t help but hear his giggling, and it was agreed that the scene was pretty stinking cute.

Not being one to impulse buy, I didn’t take it home with us. Not only was it a little on the pricey side, but I thought ahead to what kind of trend this could turn into (“Oh, he likes it! Let’s buy it!”) and decided I’d try to find one for a Christmas present. We headed out of the store for our walk home, and over the mile or so home, he continued to laugh hysterically at random. Is it possible he was playing the scene over and over in his head, and it was continuing to make him giggle? This happens to me quite often, so I imagined it was happening to him, too.

We arrived home, and it was quite obviously nap time, but he was still in a great mood! We snuggled in the rocking chair, and he continued to giggle as he was falling asleep. Even after it was obvious that he was out and I had laid him in the crib and closed the door, I could still hear him laughing in his sleep. That pretty much clinched it. I needed to find a jack-in-the-box before Christmas.

The next day, I called around to just about every kid store I could think of (second-hand stores first), and no one had a used one or one that wasn’t a creepy clown. I decided to swallow the price tag and head back to Urban Indigo. The doggy one was way too cute to pass up, so into the bag it went. When we got home, I was really excited to show it to Griffin again, this time with video camera handy, ready to capture the laugh fest.

Unfortunately, he only found it mildly funny. I think his chuckles were pity chuckles, as in, “That was so yesterday, Mom, but I’ll satisfy your need to hear me laugh since you spent 30 dollars on it.” Yes, that’s right. 30 dollars. There’s a lesson in here somewhere that I’ll figure out eventually. I’m still kind of new to this mom thing.

Okay, little guy. I guess you are pretty cute.
Okay, little guy. I guess you *are* pretty cute.
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A Confession

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I was raised Catholic. Not strict Catholic, but I did attend mass and catechism until I was confirmed in high school. One thing I remember clearly was receiving the Sacrament of Penance, otherwise known as confession, at a very early age. As a kid, this idea of confessing my sins, all the things I had done wrong, to a priest, an adult, was so crazy to me that I usually lied. Under normal circumstances, if you told an adult what you had done wrong, you’d get in trouble, right? So I would usually make vague things up, like “I was mean to my little sister” or “I was mean to my friend,” things I thought they wanted to hear. I could have said, “I sneaked into my neighbor’s garage and stole a sticker from her sticker collection” or “I trapped a cat under a box by luring it there with bologna” (both true, by the way), but I didn’t want to get nailed.

As an adult, I think I understand it a little better. Other than the religious underpinnings which were far too complicated for me to understand as a child, it seems like a form of therapy. I could use a little of that today. I have a confession that would go a little something like this:

Me: Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned. It has been…well…a very long time since my last confession, and even then, I think I was probably lying so maybe I’ve never even done a true confession.

Priest: There is no better time than the present, my child.

Me: Something has been eating at me, poking me in the head whenever I have a moment to myself, making me feel guilty for doing other things in my free time. I know I should do it, but then other important things take priority like laundry, cooking, cleaning, or even unimportant things like checking my email or writing blog posts. I imagine I’ll get to it, but then I don’t.

Priest: What is it? You can tell me.

Me: Well, we have all of these wonderful friends and family who have gotten our son, Griffin, all of these amazing things like clothes, toys, and books. We are SO thankful for them, and I think of each person when we put him in those clothes, or read him those books. I really am so appreciative for all of the care and thought that has gone into each gift, but…I just haven’t written the thank you notes. I mean really, it was a miracle I wrote all of them for our wedding, and now with a baby, free time has taken on a whole new meaning. I even bought them all and they’re just sitting there staring at me saying, “Write me! Write me!” My whole life I’ve struggled with the Thank You Note. In my head and heart, I’m so utterly thankful. It’s the writing it and sending it that is some sort of block for me. I want to. I really do. But…

Priest: You want to be absolved of writing thank you notes?

Me: Yes.

Priest: I’m sorry. There’s nothing I can do for you.

Me: Come again?

Priest: Ms. Manners trumps all in this case. No matter how late they are, you just have to write them. You can say a few Hail Marys and Our Fathers while you’re writing them, but it’s got to get done. Have you thought about developing a schedule? Do a few each day? Get your husband involved? That way it won’t feel so overwhelming.

Me: Uhh…This isn’t exactly what I was expecting. But you’re right. A schedule. Andrew involved. I can handle that. Thank you, Father. I feel much better.

And then I’m sure the priest would want to talk to me about my lack of church attendance in the past 15 years.

Anyway, this is all to say that I truly am thankful for everything – the gifts, the time, the love, the support – that Andrew and I have gotten since Griffin came into the world. The thank you notes are coming. Eventually.

Griffin

Singing, Laughing, Bouncing, Banging

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We recently received an Exersaucer (yes, it’s actually called an Exersaucer) from our friends as a hand-me-down. It’s one of those baby things that’s really great to have for about two months, so we were glad to get one that had already been well loved. Dave and Nancy used to call theirs The Neglecter, and while Griffin does spend some time in it while I do other things during the day, I have really been enjoying watching him entertain himself after I plop him in.

It’s amazing to see him spin himself around, manipulate the toys (that, frustratingly for Griffin, do not detach from the base), and most recently, discover the joys of bouncing. Today I caught him in a particularly joyful moment, singing to himself, laughing when he’d catch my eye, bouncing, and making lots of noise. There’s nothing necessarily extraordinary about this video, but when I think about how much he’s changed in almost seven months, it’s really kind of breathtaking.